It Started With a Party
by witch-annie
Summary: Harry and Draco meet five years after they leave Hogwarts. But before they have the chance to find out how both had changed, a sequence of events brings about the death of some important people in Harry's life, and them becoming...
1. Five Years Later

The London street was cold, the wind unmercifully strong; even the trees bent under its force. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the grape-purple sky, and the low, rumbling sound of thunder was the only sound to be heard.

He huddled in his jacket, trying to make the garment tighter around his body; it was no use, the cold was in the very centre of his bones. The man walked briskly along the pavement, ignoring the puddles he stepped in – he was clearly in a rush.

Again and again he cursed himself for letting his ex-classmate talk him into going to the thrice-accursed Yule party. He could have been sitting at home now, in a nice, cosy, warm armchair with a cup of coffee and a good book. But no, here he was, out in the rain, getting soaked and freezing and he was most sure he'd catch a bad cold and be sick for days.

He approached the door and rang four times. It opened a few moments later, and a pretty young woman appeared in the doorway.

'Oh,' she said shortly, seemingly surprised to see him, 'oh.'

'Can I come in?' he asked brusquely.

'Oh, of course,' she smiled weakly and a little sheepishly, stepping aside to let him through.

'Bad weather, eh?' she leant against the wall as the newcomer pulled off his jacket and shook the raindrops out of his hair in a dog-like manner.

'The weather is always crap around here,' he answered, and then cringed. They had not seen each other for bloody five years, and he was talking about weather!

'Yes,' she agreed, rather absent-mindedly.

The man surveyed the woman before him. She had grown, and was fuller of shape now, no longer the wiry little girl she had been. She had the grace of a dancer – when had she started dancing? - and her large eyes were bright and full of cheerfulness. The dress was nice, too – pale-blue Chinese silk with a red dragon going down one side.

She blew a loose strand of hair from her face.

'Let's go? Everyone's already here,' she said timidly.

He followed her down the long corridor, and he could hear the faint sound fo music now. When the woman opened a thick oaken door, the loudness of the music almost deafened him.

The hall was semi-dark, full of people. There were small groups of them by the table, chatting away with glasses in their hands, laughing and joking animatedly. Some – couples – had retired to the sofas at the end of the hall, but most were dancing. Dozens of swaying and embracing people – some of whom seemed, to him, vaguely familiar.

'I'll leave you then?' the woman asked, and when he nodded in the positive, she went to join a lanky man by the buffet.

The man looked around, trying to find the person who had made him come. He couldn't see him, so he started making his way along the impromptu dance-floor, eyeing the assembled.

Then he saw someone. A man, dancing alone. Slim, lithe body swaying to the music, eyes closed, lips parted. He _was_ music, he was one with it. Movements perfectly fitting with the beat of the song, a happy, serene, perfectly content expression on the perfect face.

There was no mistaking him – he had not changed much. Grown older, maybe. Grimmer, a little. More beautiful.

And then the dancer opened his eyes and their gazes met.

The music was too loud for the man to hear what the dancer said, but he saw the word form on his lips.

'Malfoy!'


	2. Former Enemies

At first Harry (for who else could it have been?) could not believe it was really Draco Malfoy standing not far from him. Then he realized this was not a vision of any sort, and that the blond ex-Slytherin was really there, in flesh and blood.

They had not seen each other for five years, ever since they graduated from Hogwarts, but Malfoy had not changed much. He was still tall – though shorter than Harry by a few inches – and slender, and he had grown his hair a little so that the fringe flopped over his eyes. His eyes were narrowed slightly in the usual, haughty manner, as though challenging Harry to come closer.

Harry didn't accept this challenge – he didn't want anything to do with his former – or was it only former? - enemy. He simply slid off the dance-floor, and when Hermione and Ron, who were by the table, threw quizzical looks at him, he gestured at the veranda.

It was cold outside, but Harry felt the sudden need for fresh air. The late autumn night was dark, and the moon was half-covered by the leaden clouds, but Harry loved this weather. He had always preferred late autumn and winter to springs and summers. Didn't know why, but the fact was that he always looked forward to the cold.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his erratically beating heart. Why had seeing Malfoy affected him so? This was reunion night, so all of Harry's year was there, and he had greeted and spoke to almost everyone – so why was he so shocked to see Malfoy? He couldn't understand – yet.

The door opened again, and Harry's eyes snapped open. "Think of the devil and he's here", Harry thought, as he saw Malfoy himself appear on the veranda.

'Avoiding me, Potter?' Malfoy drawled, pulling on his jacket as he approached Harry.

'Like I've got nothing better to do,' Harry snapped. Malfoy was still, it seemed, the arrogant little jerk he had been in Hogwarts.

Malfoy took out a Galois and a lighter, and lit the cigarette.

'You smoke?' Harry asked, surprised.

'Since sixth year, Potter,' Malfoy replied, smoke swirling in the air, 'just shows how much you don't know about me, doesn't it?'

'As if you know anything about me, Malfoy,' Harry said, indifferently.

'I know a lot about you, Potter,' Draco said, gracefully lowering himself onto a wooden chair, 'you became an Auror when you were eighteen, took out six Deatheaters in the last year, working in a team with the mudblood Granger and Viktor Krum.'

Harry winced when Malfoy referred to Hermione as 'mudblood', but he said nothing. What Malfoy had said was true – he had indeed killed four and put two Deatheaters in Azkaban in the last year, and it was also true that Hermione (who had passed the Auror examination a year after him) and Viktor (who had decided to give up his Quidditch career and also become an Auror, so he could work with his fiancйe Hermione), worked together and were called one fo the best teams in the history of the Ministry. He did not know if this was true, but they were still alive,and that must have meant they were good.

'You're also single,' Draco continued with a sneer, 'judging from the fact that you were dancing alone.'

Harry looked up, suddenly angry.

'Why did you come, Malfoy?' he asked, and his voice was a hiss, 'didn't you have enough of making my life a misery in Hogwarts? Want to continue it now, too?'

'I actually came because Pansy begged me to,' Draco shrugged, tossing the cigarette into a puddle, 'but I couldn't find her anywhere.'

'She left with Zabini an hour ago, I think, ' Harry informed him.

It seemed as thought the blond did not really care.

'Is it true?' Harry asked suddenly, 'about your parents, I mean?'

It was only momentarily, but Harry saw pain flash across Draco's face, but a fraction of a second later, the mask of coldness was back on once again.

'Yes,' Draco said, shortly. 'Murdered. Why, you glad?'

'No,' Harry said, softly, 'did you forget the same person killed my parents, too?'

Draco looked at him.

'They were crap parents, Potter. But they were my parents. No matter how screwed up they were, I never wished them to be killed. Never!'

His voice rose so that he was almost shouting, face flushed with fury – but Harry knew that anger was not directed at him. Anger at Voldemort, perhaps, at his parents for joining the Deatheaters, but, for once, not at Harry.

'I know how you -' Harry began gently, but a high-pitched scream interrupted him.


	3. The Unexpected Vistors

They exchanged a look and then, simultaneously, made a dash for the door. Wands cam out in a nanosecond, in a sweeping, trained movement.

Havoc ruled what had, some seconds ago, been a party. The guests were spread out along the walls, clearly attempting to go through them, huddling in groups and clinging to each other. Fear was evident in the faces of every single one of them.

In the middle of the hall were six cloaked and hooded people, tall, black shapes that stood back-to-back in a circle. Deatheaters.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, mind cool and concentrated. He'd been trained for this. He could – he had to had to – handle this.

He raised his wand, waiting for the Deatheaters to move. For a moment, everyone was just frozen, and the electricity in the air was almost palpable.

'Malfoy,' one Deatheater said, in a low, dry voice, 'where is he?'

No-one answered.

_Oh, shit, _Malfoy thought, desperately, _not here, not now. This could not be happening. Not after - _

_Harry moved to place himself before Draco, shielding him, wand still poised in the confident hand. _

'I thought they put you in Azkaban, Browne,' Harry spoke calmly.

'Ah,' the Deatheater who had spoken turned towards Harry, 'Saint Potter, himself, is it not? And no, some money exchanged hands and I got out. Just, you can say, to do this -'

He moved to the right, and 'Avada Kedavra' left his lips in the shortest time possible.

Harry saw the green flash as it left Browne's wand. It would have killed him if it hadn't been for the Quidditch-trained reflexes. Harry lunged aside, pulling Malfoy with him as he went. They fell, Draco on top of Harry, and Harry pulled Draco's head down just in time. The curse flew an inch away from the blond hair, making impact with a table and incinerating it.

If it had not been for the urgency of the situation, Harry would have been embarrassed of his currently spread out under Malfoy, holding his head down to his shoulder. As it was, he simply pushed the blond off himself and jumped to his feet.

Hermione and Viktor had moved forward. Both had the professional, grim expressions of Aurors on their faces. As they neared the Deatheaters, Hermione bent to tear her dress, making a hip-high slit that would allow her freer movements.

'We know he's here,' a Deatheater shouted. Harry, with his peripheral vision, saw Draco retreating into the shadows.

'And what would you want with him?' Hermione asked, voice oozing confidence. Harry could not help but admire his best friend. Beautiful as brilliant as she was.

'Personal matters,' came a curt reply. 'Give us to him and we will hurt no-one.'

'Really?' Viktor sneered, 'why don't I just believe you? Expelliarmus!' he barked the spell, and it joined with those of Harry and Hermione.

The Aurors' aim had been poor, and the spell missed the circle of Deatheaters, simply making them stagger as it flew by and crashed into a wall. What it did do, though, was trigger the Deatheaters.

Harry managed to deflect a Cruciatus Curse and tackled the Deatheater who had cast it, and they crashed to the floor. Harry, momentarily blinded by rage, forgot about the wand. His fist made impact with the Deatheater's head, and the hood was thrown off. He saw the high-cheek boned, tight-lipped face of Augustus Browne.

'How -' Harry said, with each word administering a blow to the Deatheaters head, 'many – times – do I - have to – put - you - in – jail!'

'Harry, goddamit, get down here!' Hermione's voice brought him back to his senses. Harry left the unconscious enemy and ran to Hermione.

She indicated two Deatheaters, who clearly were meaning to attack the cowering Patil twins. Padma screamed. Parvati clasped her had tighter over her mouth.

'No you don't,' Harry said through gritted teeth. He uttered a spell that caught one Deatheater in his head, and the second just started to turn around when Harry concussed him with his personal favourite curse.

Viktor was dealing splendidly with his own Deatheater, dodging Cruciatuses and Avada-Kedavras, sporting only a few scratches. Then he feinted left and moved right, sending an Expelliarmus. The Deatheater went flying aside and greeted a wall.

Harry looked around. Hermione was standing triumphantly over a bleeding Deatheater of her own, arms crossed.

'Viktor, Hermi, wheres the last one!' Harry yelled, looking around, 'there were six!'

Hermione looked around.

'I – I don't know -' she began.

'That would be the one who tried to take me,' said a silky, self-satisfied voice.

Harry spun on his heels to see a grinning Draco Malfoy, whose booted foot was on the chest of a cloaked figure, a pool of blood spreading from under the head of the latter.

Harry exhaled in relief. Viktor grabbed Hermione in a rib-crushing embrace.

'Now,' Harry said, looking hardly at Malfoy, 'you will answer some very serious questions.'


	4. New Roomate

'You live here?" Draco exclaimed incredulously.

They were standing in the middle of Harry's apartment, having just Apparated there. True, Harry thought, slightly uncomfortable, it was not the tidiest of places. Okay, the floor was littered with parchment, books and quills, there were magazines and newspapers on the sofa and a pile of CDs and DVDs by the TV. It wasn't exactly dusty or dusty – it was imply a house whose owner never really had the time to put anything away.

'I work all day,' Harry said coldly, 'and you are free to totter off to your Manor anytime, Malfoy.'

Malfoy sighed.

'What, and be killed?' he sneered, 'no, thank you very much. I'm staying here,' he flopped onto the sofa, pushing the newspapers aside, 'where you will protect me like a good little Auror.'

Harry clenched his teeth, praying for patience. Why did Tonks – the present Head of the Aurors – have to pick Harry to be Malfoy's protector? Well, the answer was easy enough, harry admitted to himself. Who else would have been crazy enough to let Malfoy live in their house!

Harry pushed Malfoy's feet off the sofa and sat down, too.

'You gonna tell me what this is all about, Malfoy?' he asked wearily.

'I already told that Tonks woman. And Arthur Weasley. And the Minister.'

Harry threw him a particularly nasty look.

'Okay, Potter, chill. When I turned seventeen right after our graduation, I was put before a choice. Either join Voldemort – become a Deatheater – or... well, the other option was pretty much to die. I'd seen to much over the years, heard too much.

Anyway, since I am not yet a suicidal lunatic, I told my father to stuff his kind offer up Voldemort's butt, and then I had no choice but to run. I lived in Paris for some years – lovely chocolate there – and some time in Rome, Brussels, New York, Moscow...

What I didn't know was that my parents were hiding something for Voldemort in our Manor. Dunno what, but they were, since after they murdered the house was turned upside down. Pillows cut open, mattresses shredded, wine bottles smashed. Whoever killed them was obviously looking for something. Something small. And no, I don't know what really happened, but I do have my suspicions. Maybe Father didn't want to give that item back. Maybe Father displeased Voldemort in some way so he had my parents killed and then wanted to take his treasure back.

Obviously the Deatheaters didn't find whatever it was, because a year ago I ran into a very mangy band of criminals that told me to give it back if I valued my life. Or, I dunno, maybe Voldemort wants to do me in 'cause I know too much... Eh, anyway, I don't know anything more than that I have to hide. Especially after that lovely encounter three hours ago.'

'What were you talking to Tonks about? You were there for an hour. Were you telling her what you know about Voldemort?'

'I help the Ministry, the Ministry helps me. I told them what I know, they provided me with a bodyguard. Fair, innit?'

'Wait, Malfoy, since when are you helping the good side?'

'To tell you the truth Potter, I've had my taste of the Dark side. And I did not like it. So -'

Malfoy shrugged, then sat up.

'I'm exhausted,' Malfoy drawled, 'where do I sleep?'

'Right where you are lying now,' Harry got up, and began walking towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. 'Good night.'

He dropped onto his bed, and was just about to switch off when Malfoy sat down on the other side.

'I am not sleeping on the couch,' he said in a whiny voice, 'I've got back problems, and anyway, I am a Malfoy. I get the bed, you get the couch.'

With that, he lay down and pulled the blanket over himself.

Harry clenched his teeth again, but found that such positive brat-iness had rendered him speechless.

Then he lay down too, and pulled the blanket in his own direction.

'You're not staying,' Malfoy said, curtly.

'I am,' Harry answered.

'No.'

Yes.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No.'

Yes.'

'Git.'

'Jerk.'

'Saint Potter.'

'Ferret-face.'

'Idiot.'

'Ponce.'

This continued for some time, developing into expressions that are in now way suitable for... repeating.

Hours later, Harry, livid and still exceptionally tired, thought that if before he suspected that letting Malfoy to live here was the greatest mistake of Harry's life, now he was sure of it.


	5. Pain of Loss

Harry woke up hours later – it was long past midnight – and the languid, sweet, warm sort of relaxation had taken over his body. He yawned, and rubbed his eyes, and then, quite unexpectedly, he realized he was not alone.

It was only a few seconds later that he understood that Malfoy had stayed after all. The blond was fast asleep, a small smile curving his pale lips, hair strewn over the pillow. His hand was slung over Harry's stomach, and he was way too close to the brunet for this not to feel – at the very least – strange.

Harry tried to move away, but Malfoy moaned in his sleep, and, eyes still closed, pulled Harry closer. The blond's face nuzzled Harry's neck, and he muttered something.

Harry put his hands around Malfoy and went back to sleep – did he really have any other alternatives?

'Potter? Potter?' Malfoy walked into the kitchen. His hair was tousled, and he wore nothing but his pair of jeans. He stretched luxuriously, flexing his Quidditch-honed muscles.

Harry looked at his from his seat at the table. His coffee and croissants had long become cold. His eyes were huge and seemed sort of lost, and helpless.

'Its Remus. He – he was found dead this morning,' the letter fell from Harry's limp hand. 'Murdered. Ron was with him. They still don't know where he is.'

Two days had passed. The graveyard was cool and shady, the rain very light. Harry was alone by the small gravestone; simple and yet beautiful, like Remus had been. An epitaph that said _To a beloved friend, colleague, Professor and lover. _Fresh flower – mostly white roses. Remus's favourites.

_Harry fell onto his knees, the picture fo Severus's face, contorted with a mixture of hatred, anguish and pain still vivid in his mind. Severus's dark eyes had been wet with tears, and he had cried, silently, throughout the funeral; which to Harry seemed worse than screaming. _

Remus Lupin. The gentle werewolf, the best Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry had ever had, one of Harry's good friends. Mentor, father figure, the person who had helped him to prepare for the Auror tests.

Harry's tears dripped onto the foil of the bouquets, and it seemed as though the flowers themselves were crying.

The he felt a hand on his shoulder – a warm, comforting weight.

'Go, Hermione,' he said quietly, 'I'll stay for a bit.'

'I'm not leaving you here in this state,' said a voice, but it was not Hermione's. Malfoy was who was standing behind Harry, dressed in black, face wearing a strangely soft expression. Hermione herself, and the Weasleys were standing a distance away, throwing hesitant glances at the two men by the gravestone.

'They're waiting for us, Po - Harry,' Malfoy hesitated, but thought that it would be wrong to call Harry 'Potter' now. He didn't really know why.

'Okay,' Harry said, his voice perfectly expressionless.

He followed Malfoy to Hermione's Jeep, as the Weasleys crowded into Ginny's Volkswagen. He knew the Weasleys were going to the Ministry now – just as he was sure they were going to stay there until any news fo Ron came.

Hermione drove in silence, biting her lip as though she wanted to say something but was stopping herself.

'Where are we going?' Harry asked after a while. He didn't recognize his voice.

'We're taking you home,' the young woman answered, in what was meant to be a light tone.

'I'm coming to the Ministry with you,' Harry said quietly, yet forcefully, 'I want to be part of the search team.'

'Harry, they've left over 30 hours ago.'

'I'll Apparate to them.'

'You can't – no-one knows where they are now.'

'Hermione, my – our – best friend is out there. Maybe being tortured, possibly near death. I cannot - I will not – sit around and do nothing! You yourself should be there! Not sitting in a comfy chair in warmth and doing nothing whatsoever to help him!'

Hermione turned crimson, as though Harry had slapped her.

'You think I don't want to be there?" she said sharply, 'trust me, I do! But I can;t Harry. God knows this is not the way I wanted to announce it, but Harry, I am pregnant. Three months now. I can't put my child at risk.'

Harry fell quiet, suddenly feeling ashamed at his breakout.

'I'm still joining the team,' he said stubbornly, just as Hermione stopped before his house. 'And no-one will stop me!'


	6. Confessions by the Bed

'I don't want you to do this,' Draco said – for the hundredth time. Harry placed his wand in a special holster that was strapped onto his arm.

'I'm not changing my mind.'

'For the sake of all that is holy!' Draco cried in exasperation, 'you'll kill yourself. You'll lead all the others to death! Can't you see that?'

Harry straightened up. Then he flew at Draco, pushing him against the wall. Draco was suddenly helpless, completely overwhelmed by the warm, soft lips that were pressed against his. Harry kissed fiercely, as if Draco's lips were his only life source, the drop of water to a desert-traveller, the heroin to the drug addict.

When the surfaced for air, Harry crossed his arms and said -

'I do see it, Draco,' he said, gently, 'I see that this is what I have to do to save your bloody arse. And I will. Because I fricking cannot see my life without you now.

And it's your fault – you came waltzing into my life, and immediately everything became so complicated. I fell in love – head over heels, so stupidly and totally that I felt like a fifteen-year-old. You wiped away my peace, my routine, my heterosexuality.'

He managed a small smile, and Disapparated, leaving a very confused Draco to stand alone in Harry's bedroom.

'Where is he?' Draco shrieked, storming into the St. Mungo's Emergency Room. Hermione (who was sporting a cut across her brow) and Viktor (who was swearing under his breath) tried to stop him from doing so, and were flung aside.

He stopped still. The healers, who were crowded around the bed, did not even turn around. All dozen of them had their wands, and were muttering spells every few seconds. A frighteningly large amount of bottles with multicoloured potions stood on a nearby table.

'We're losing him,' one said in a level, professional voice. A healer, whose face was hidden behind a blue mask, swore, and a silvery-white spell erupted from her wand.

'Temperature at 39 and rising.'

'Heartbeat unsteady.'

'We're going to need blood.'

'Hand me a tissue.'

'Blood pressure falling.'

Draco slid along the wall, finding that his knees could not longer hold him.

Harry looked deathly pale. His face was a greenish-blue hue, lips completely bloodless. His lands hung limp, spattered with mud and dark red. His hair was muddy and damp, and that pile in the corner had probably been his clothes.

'What are you doing here?' an annoyed and angry voice inquired. He looked up to see a masked Healer glaring down on him.

'I – I,' was all that he could manage.

'Mr. Potter? You're about him, I presume?'

'Y – yes.'

'You're going to have to wait outside.'

'I – have to stay,' Draco said, burying his head in his hands. 'I have to stay...'

The Healer said nothing else. She hurried away, and soon came back with a large plastic bag of blood. Draco watched as they set-up the drip. Soon, the crowd around the bed began to disperse, until only an unconscious Harry, Draco and a young nurse were left in the room.

Draco did not know what time it was when he finally stood up and walked up to the bed. Harry looked fragile, as thought he was a crystal statue, and his eyelids were fluttering ever so lightly. Draco watched – and it was almost more than he could bear – as Harry drew a deep and clearly painful, wheezing, breath. He knew Harry was not sleeping – he had heard the Healers say that he was slipping into a comatose sort of state.

Draco drew up a chair and sat down, without really registering he had done so. He sat back and began speaking -

'Look, I know you can hear me, Harry. I'm worried out of my wits. I thought you were going to die. Hell, you look like you're half dead.

But you promised me, Harry. You promised me you'll survive, even though I told you that attack was stupid and reckless. Please come back. I know that it's good, wherever you are now, I know its wonderful there. No pain, no worry, no hardships. But I'm alone here, goddamit, and if you die on me I'll have nothing to live for. You – promised – me!' Draco was screaming now. The nurse looked up, her face concerned.

And then Draco was overcome with a realization that knocked the wind out of him, something that he understood now – only now - so clearly that it shocked him and rendered him dumb. He was in love with Harry Potter.


	7. Harry's Story 1

A/N Yes, I did have to miss out the parts where Remus dies AND the actual attack. Don't think I completely ignored it, because it had to be so for the structure. You are going to find out what happened.

His head hurt. Harry opened his eyes and grimace – his everything hurt, actually. He was in a strange, white room with no windows. Draco was sleeping in a lounge chair in the corner, a book in his limp hands.

'Draco?' Harry said, and his voice was croaky.

Draco's eyes shot open and a moment later he flew off the armchair and was covering Harry's face with kisses.

'Hey, hey!' Harry gently moved Draco away, 'whats wrong? Where am I?'

Draco, a wide grin on his face,

'I still don't know,' he said, 'what happened when you left, I mean. But then I got an owl from Ginny Weasley telling me that you were at St. Mungo's. So I came here and – and - ' he could not make himself recount the horrors he'd gone through as he had watched the deathly-pale Harry, 'I stayed here for the last week,' he finished, rather lamely.

'I was out for a week?' Harry asked weakly.

'Yeah. Um... How are feeling?'

'OK, I guess. I've felt worse... Well, okay, I feel like shit, but I'll live.'

He smiled, and Draco smiled back. But soon the blond;s face became serious again.

'Harry, you wanna tell me what happened?'

Harry did not answer at first. Then he began talking, and the words were tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall, and eh was glad Draco knew better than to interrupt him.

They'd Apparated to the place where Remus's body had been found – it was a wood, dark and seemingly endless.

'Here,' an elderly Auror told Harry,

Harry nodded curtly, and took out his wand. A tiny beam of yellow light appeared from his wand. This was spell that the Aurors used to identify what people where here last, kind of like the Muggles used fingerprints. The entire problem was that if it had rained, all the invisible magical remnants would be gone. Then they would not know who was here with Remus.

But it had not rained. Harry saw smoke rise from the ground, and it formed into a figure of a man. Then into another. And another. Harry knew the three well – Browne. Crabbe. Ivanov.

He turned to Tonks, who nodded assent. He then pointed his wand to the depth of the wood and said

'_Akoluthos_ Browne, Crabbe, Ivanov.'

The wand began to pull at his hand, leading him in the direction from where the three Deatheaters came. The seven Aurors followed him silently, wands poised, Tonks bringing up the rear.

'What if it's a trap?' Viktor, who was walking side-by-side with Harry, asked. 'I cannot imagine they'd be so stupid. What if they left their traces there on purpose?'

'It'll be okay, Viktor,' Harry said, still following the wand, 'it'll be okay.'

Viktor looked away, unsure of whom Harry was reassuring – him or himself?

They walked like that for more than an hour. It was growing darker still, if it was even possible, and the trees were growing less densely now.

Harry felt his scar sear with pain, blinding him so suddenly that he fell to his knees, letting go of his wand. Hermione grabbed it, turning to Harry with a worried look.

'What is it? Is it you scar again?'

'Yeah,' Harry managed. The pain was leaving him. 'He's close.'

He got up and they resumed their walking. A few minutes passed and Harry sensed something. Something – bad.

He stopped abruptly – the trees had ended and their were standing at the edge of a clearing. There was a cottage – rather like Hagrid's – in the middle, but the windows were dark and it generally had the air of a deserted place. Still, Harry could not shake off the feeling that something was not right.

And when the two dozen Lumoses went on, he was sure of it.


	8. Harry's Story 2

A/N To answer the question whether Harry fell in love with Draco over the two days or whether he has always been infatuated with him. Let me try to explain. Yes, I am inclined to believe that Harry always felt drawn to Draco, a sort of feeling bordering on obsession, but he has not really been in love. Now, five years later, Harry has an orderly life and when Malfoy tumbles into it, it throws everything off. Harry realizes – perhaps now that he is older and knows Malfoy is not a Deatheater, perhaps also because Malfoy lost his parents too – that he is in love with him. So, no, he has not been love from the beginning nor has it just happened over the two days. It is a complex thing – something I have personally been through, and it is kind of hard to explain. I hope it is a little clearer though! Now, back to the story...

Harry was blinded, taking aback by the sudden, intense, illumination. But his reflexes had been honed by Auror training, and a moment later he and the others simultaneously moved closer together. Harry yelled -

'Shield up!' and all said the shielding spell that conjured up a transparent and unbreakable wall of energy around them.

A few red and green spells hit the shield and broke against it. Harry watched, with a sort of weary resignation, as over twenty Deatheaters sped into the clearing. These cloaked, hooded and masked figures huddled together, clearly holding a council.

'It was a trap,' Harry breathed, falling onto his knees. 'It was all a goddamn trap...'

'Harry, get up,' Hermione slapped him on the shoulder impatiently, 'and stop being melodramatic. What matters now is how we're going to save our butts.'

Harry nodded. They all knew that the shield would break if the Deatheaters began bombarding it with spells, but since this charm was a recent invention, Harry doubted the Deatheaters would figure this out any time soon.

'We can take on zem,' Fleur Delacour – an Auror for the French Ministry who had been transferred to work with Harry upon his (and Bill's) request – said, shrugging. 'Zey are not many.'

'No, Fleur,' Viktor replied grimly, 'we cannot be sure they do not have another twenty hiding somewhere in the bushes.'

'They don't, Viktor,' Harry said, very quietly, his hand rising to his aching scar.

'But zen -' Fleur began.

'Voldemort is here himself,' Harry cut across the part-Veela.

Her did not know how he knew this – but he just did. And he was right, too – as soon as he said this, another cloaked figure joined the Deatheaters. They parted to let him through, bowing almost to the ground as they did.

'Oh shit,' Harry managed to say, just as a flash of pale silver light erupted from Voldemort's wand and sped towards the shield. Much to Harry's astonishment, the wall shattered into sparks and disappeared. The Aurors flung themselves aside, dodging various spells and hexes that were already flying towards them.

There was chaos next. Harry's colleagues ran towards the Deatheaters, and he knew that it was against their code of honour to simply Apparate away. No, they'd fight, no matter how small their numbers were, no matter how much they were needed at the Ministry - alive. He watched, helpless, registering only bits and pieces of what he saw.

Fleur Delacour, beautiful and regal, white-blonde hair billowing behind her, her black cloak making her seen even paler, defending herself against a tall, bearded rogue.

Viktor, grim-faced, sending Expelliarmus after Expelliarmus at a hawk-like woman.

Hermione, dwarfed by Crabbe Senior's huge form, valiantly shouting something, her lip sliced and bleeding.

Daniel, a young, curly-haired Auror, falling to the ground as a Cruciatus hit him.

Only two people were not yet involved. Harry and Voldemort.

Harry watched the dark figure that almost blended in with the backdrop of the black forest with suspicion. And then Voldemort was gone. Just gone. A moment passed. Two. Three. Cold sweat broke out on Harry's forehead.

And then there were long, cold fingers around his neck, pressing hard into his windpipe, cutting out his air supply. Harry battled to get some oxygen and failed again and again.

He retrieved a spell from his memory, a spell that did not need to be spoken, and said it in his head.

'Finito Incantatem,' Voldemort sneered, lips curling into an ugly grimace.

Harry swore mentally; he had been foolish to hope that Voldemort would not be able to foresee this attempt – after all, Voldemort was an outstanding Legilimens. Harry promised himself that if he was going to come out of this alive he'd get Severus to teach him Occlumency after all.

And still, those bony fingers were clutching his neck, choking him. Before everything started to go dark, however, there was a flash of light and Voldemort spun around, leaving Harry.

Harry gulped in the suddenly wonderful air, coughing and spluttering.

Then he turned his attention to his saviour – and it was too late. Fleur, who had attempted to attack Voldemort, was on the ground, a long gash on her stomach oozing blood. She seemed very much dead.

Voldemort, meanwhile, turned his attention to Harry once more. The brunet was prepared now, however, and was able to deflect some of the spells that came his way. On the fifth Crucio, however, he lost his concentration as Viktor came tumbling into his and threw him off his feet. The Bulgarian jumped to his feet and spend off, but a wave of ed-hot pain paralysed Harry. He reeled, blinded by it, and collapsed. It felt very much as though every part of his body was on fire.

One after another, six in all, Crucios were sent his way. Voldemort stood above him, taking pleasure in causing his mortal enemy indescribable agony. Again and again Harry screamed, wishing only that Voldemort would kill him and get it over and done with.

'No, Poter, I will not,' Voldemort said, and his voice was a low hiss. 'i have something so much worse planned for you. So – much – worse.'

Harry's wand was knocked out of his hand, but he did not realize it. Voldemort's face was above him, as more and more spells collided with various parts of his body. Not Crucios anymore, but some spells that eh could not hear but caused him pain that made black dots dance before his eyes. He learned later that these were spells, old, ancient spells that had been used for magical duelling centuries ago. They were pretty much like beating someone savagely.

Presently, Harry just longed for the sweet release of death. The last emotion he felt was desperation. He knew now he could not face Voldemrot. He was not strong enough. He was completely ineffective. He could not save Draco. Then everything went black.


	9. Conversations and Scrying?

Harry stopped here, and was ashamed to find that his eyes were damp with tears of humiliation and anger. He was embarrassed that he had been so ineffective, and angry – angry at himself – that he had blindly and foolishly walked into a trap. A trap which he could have easily foreseen.

'What – what about the others?' he asked quietly. He was still not looking at Draco.

'Granger just got a bad cut. Krum's sporting a broken arm, Fleur is in the room next door, but she'll live. They patched her up alright, but she'll never be able to wear a bikini again. All the others were not seriously hurt, they were sent home right after they brought you back here.'

'Harry!' A voice thick with worry sounded as Hermione burst through the door. 'Oh Harry! You're awake!'

She pounced on him like a volture, pulling him into an embrace.

'I was so worried,' she admitted, pulling away. 'We thought you were going to die. You had so many ribs broken and some punctured your lungs and your hands were dislocated. What on earth did Voldemort do to you?'

'No idea,' Harry shrugged, 'some spells. I was in no state to remember them, though, not after six Cruciatuses.'

'It doesn't matter, at least you're fine now.'

'Wait, how exactly did everyone get out of there? Alive?'

'Well, we thought he'd killed you so we dealt with the Deatheaters as soon as it was possible and encircled Voldemort. We wanted to attack him but he just Dissapparated. Then we took you and brought you here.'

Strange, Harry thought. Voldemort pretty much fled. Was he frightened of some Aurors? Not likely. He had more power than all of them put together and multiplied by a hundred. Plus, he could use the Unforgivable Curses. So why did he just... Disapparate?

Quite unexpectedly, Hermione burst into tears.

'I was so scared, Harry,' she said, sounding quite like the 16-year-old girl she had been not that long ago, 'I though you were dead and – and – and -'

'I'm fine, Hermi. I'm fine,' Harry said soothingly, patting her head in a comforting way. 'Look, I'm sure Viktor is waiting for you. Go, take care of yourself. Ok?'

'Ok – kay,' she gave him a tearful smile and Disapparated.

Draco took Harry back to the apartment two days later. The Healers wanted Harry to stay there for at least one week, but Harry as restless and anxious and simply would not stay in bed. He promised to stay off work, though, and was presently bored out of his wits.

'Potter – Harry – we need to talk,' Draco was saying on the third day after Harry's return. 'About us.'

Harry looked up from the book he was reading, with one finger adjusting his glasses.

'I expect so,' he said, putting the tome aside. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, the fractured ribs still causing him considerable pain.

'Well, erm, before you left you -'

'Kissed you?'

'Yeah.'

'Your point being?'

Draco was becoming aggravated – why was Harry being so nonchalant?

'Harry, we used to be enemies. For years. Then you just kiss me. I'm sorry, but things don't just happen like that.'

'Draco, I admit that perhaps I.. rushed. I should not have kissed you, not without explaining myself first. We were children in Hogwarts, you and I, immature, impulsive and unreasonable. I blamed you for things I imagined you were guilty of, you hated me for denying you on that first day. Now I understand that I cannot hate you for the person you are – you value pedigree and pure blood, but that is the way you were brought up. I know now that you are not on Voldemort's side -'

'Well, I cant say I was an angel... I mean, I did make it seem as though I was going to follow in Father's footsteps, didn't I?'

'Yeah, you did. We've both changed, and when you sauntered into that reunion night, I was smitten. I mean, have you seen you? You're beautiful! And I suppose the fact that we both lost our parents made me see you in a different light, too. It was like I could understand you.'

Draco reached out to touch Harry's hand, and that simple gesture sent shivers running down Harry's spine.

'I know you feel the same way,' Harry stated softly.

Draco looked u p, startled.

'I heard what you said to me, when I was unconscious,' Harry clarified, 'not clearly, but I remember most of it. You said you needed me.'

'I do,' Draco breathed.

His eyes rose and emerald and silver met, and there was warmth and love, a sudden bond between two very different people. Draco's hand still lay over Harry's and it was a strangely comforting weight.

Draco smiled – a genuine smile – and looked away, breaking the spell.

'Do you need anything?' he asked.

Harry caught the blond's hand.

'Stay,' he said, voice filled with hope and need.

'Sure, I'm not leaving anywhere.'

'No, I meant, stay here, now, with me. Don't leave. Never leave.'

Draco felt something he never really felt before - he felt needed.

There was a knock on the door. Harry came out of the shower, towel-drying his hair as Draco slid in and closed the door.

Harry opened the door, expecting to see Hermione or Viktor, or Ron.

But it was Severus standing there.

He had not changed much over the five years – he was still tall and thin, but his hair was shorter than back then. His face was gentler – Remus' influence, Harry knew it – and he was in black clothes. Mourning.

'Severus? What are you doing here?' Harry asked, surprised.

Deep, sharp black eyes – sad, lost, hopeless eyes – looked at Harry.

'McGonnagal's orders. She wanted me to scry you.'

'What me?' Harry did not understand.

'Can I come in?'

'Of course. Sit, please.'

Severus lowered himself onto the sofa, looked, rather uninterested, around the living room and turned back to Harry.

'You are aware than I am a skilled Occlumens, Potter?' Severus asked, but despite the fact that he still called him Potter, his tone was no longer full of disdain and disgust. No, they were not friends – they never will be – but the hatred had diminished. Yes, it took Harry long to accept that Severus killed Dumbledore upon te Headmaster's own orders. He had received a letter after Dumbledore's funeral, in which Dumbledore explained why it had to be done and why Snape of all people had to be the killer. Harry understood that Snape was bound by the Vow and that he was irreplaceable as a spy. Even if he had not totally forgiven Severus, he accepted that what happened had to happen. It seemed that Severus too now thought better of Harry.

Neither had he condoned Severus' tentative and somewhat strange relationship with Remus, but he felt happy when he saw how happy Remus himself was. If that was what it took for his beloved teacher to be joyous, then Harry supposed it was alright.

'Yes, Severus,' Harry answered, sitting opposite him.

'Scrying is a sort of a branch of Occlumency and Legilemency. No spell is needed, but one does need the same kind of... mental qualities needed for Legilemency.'

'Um, ok. So what does it do?'

'Basically, I get to relive a particular time in your past. With you, of course. Not snatches of it like during Legilemency, but the actual, full event.'

'Like in a Pensieve?'

'Yes, like in a Pensieve.'

'And why does the Headmistress what you to, um, scry me?'

'Because we need to know what spells Voldemort used on you.'

'I don't understand.'

'You don't need to. Harry,' Severus looked tired and grey now, 'just do as I say. Alright?'

'A – alright.'

'Good. Sit before me.' Harry knelt before Severus, who took the brunet's face in his hands, 'look into my eyes. Don't blink.'

Fathomless black eyes – like two onyxes – pored into Harry's emerald ones. For a moment he felt nothing but the coolness of the precise and nimble fingers holding his face, and nothing else. But then the images started to come.


	10. Bait

When Harry came to, he was on the couch, with a platinum head bending over him. Draco's hair was damp and unusually curly, and his eyes expressed the highest state of agitation.

'God,' Draco exhaled with relief, 'you're alright.'

Harry propped himself on his elbows, and saw that Severus was sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His nose was bleeding severely, and the many red tissues meant that Harry had not been out for just a minute or so.

'What happened?' Harry asked. Draco pushed him back into a lying position.

'Scrying takes a lot out of you,' Severus answered, pressing yet another tissue to his nose, 'and the more intense the emotions the stronger it affects you. This was the strongest I've seen, by far.'

'You saw what happened in the clearing?'

'Every moment of it. Now,' he rose, though he was a little unstable on his feet, 'I must go.'

He began walking away but his knees gave way and he would have fallen if Draco had not shot off the sofa and grabbed him.

'You cant go anywhere like this,' the blond said, 'you're weak. Exhausted.'

'Mr. Malfoy, I assure you am I quite fine,' Severus said, rather hardly. He wasn't used to care and kindness. With that, he Disapparated.

Draco promptly turned to Harry.

'Better?'

'Yeah. I remember now.'

'What?'

'The curses Voldemort used on me. I – I remember them now. _Spasatio. Bolx. Arissio._'

'I've never heard of them, Harry.'

'They are Ancient Curses,' Hermione was saying an hour later. A huge and heavy book was spread open on her laps. 'They haven't been used for centuries now.'

'How come?' Harry was pacing nervously.

'You see, they were used in the ancient wizarding wars. Before there was the Ministry and so on. This book, its the only place where they are recorded, and I brought it from the Department of Mysteries. Arthur managed to get them to give it me when I told him what happened to you.

Ok, lets see. These curses killed so many people in the wars that they were eventually wiped from the memories of people. Thats why no-one has ever heard of them until now.'

'Except Voldemort,' Harry remarked.

'Yes. _Spasatio_ breaks bones._ Bolx_ causes haemorrhage._ Arissio_ is pretty much like a, well, a really big dagger.'

'If no-one else knows it and the only record of these curses have been kept in the most well-protected Department, how come Voldemort knows them?' Draco asked form his seat.

'I – I don't know,' Hermione bit her lip. 'But -'

'You can say it,' Harry said bitterly, 'there is a traitor. In the Ministry. In the Department of Mysteries. Its the only logical answer.'

'But that means -' Draco's eyes were wide.

'Constant vigilance,' Harry quoted Alastor Moody, 'we do not know who it is. It could be anyone. Doesn't even have to be an Unspeakable – it could be any person who has the authority to go into the Department. Or who went in without authority...'

'A thief? Harry, the Department is the most protected place in the Ministry. Aurors around it. Permanent protections spells. No-one could just go and steal a book from there!'

'I got in there in my fifth year, Draco. It's not impossible. Hermione,' he said, turning to the young woman. 'Contact Arthur, Tonks, McGonnagal and the Minister. Tell them to gather every person who has entered the Department of Mysteries in the last year. Can't be many. I'm going to Severus for Veritaserum. We need to know it was a thief. We need to be sure its not one of us.'

'Harry, it could have been an Unspeakable under the Imperius. It could have been -'

'What do you propose I do?' Harry snarled. Now he too realized it was near impossible to find the traitor – even if he or she existed.

What will it change, Harry? Even if we know who told Voldemort? I understand that you are angry. That you want revenge. But there are others ways, not blindly blundering into a trap.'

Harry bit his lip.

'All I am saying is that we have to try something else. After all its possible that Voldemort found out about the curses by himself.'

'Its a wonder he needs them at all, what with the Avada Kedavra...' Draco remarked darkly.

Hermione turned to the former Slytherin.

'I'm not surprised he does need them, Draco. Not everyone has the guts to use the killing curse, so the Deatheaters need means that are just as effective. As for Harry being subjected to them, well, I think Voldemrot just did not want to kill him straight away.' She turned back to Harry. 'As I was saying, we have to be smarter, subtler. I suggest bait.'

'Bait?' Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

'Voldemort wants something. Lets lure him – or whomever he sends to get it – where we want them. We'll have the element of surprise, and we'll have larger numbers.'

'And this bait will be -?' Harry said slowly.

'Draco, of course.'

Harry gaped at her. Then he turned to face Draco. Then he tuned back to Hermione.

'No,' he said, quietly yet hardly. 'Not Draco.'

'Harry, you don't -' Hermione began soothingly, but Harry cut across her.

'Listen to me, Hermione Granger. I will not let you risk Draco. I've lost enough people because of Voldemort. My parents. Sirius. Lupin. Dumbledore. Ron, almost. I will not let you use him, of all people. Not the one person I love.'

It was Hermione's turn to gape.

'So it's like that,' she said finally. 'Now I understand.'

'No, you do not understand anything. Would you risk Viktor, knowing that he will most probably be killed? No, you would not. Of course you would not.'

'I'll do it,' Draco rose form his seat.


	11. Farewell

'Wait, Draco,' Harry caught up with him mere seconds later.

'Don't try and talk me out of it,' Draco warned him, wearily.

'You cant do this!'

'Why not?'

'You cant do this. To me.'

Draco turned around, suddenly cold and distant.

'I'm doing what I have to do.'

'Goddamit, Draco! I screwed up, I admit it, but why do you have to go and do... this? Its suicide!'

'I might come out of it alive,' Draco shrugged, his entire manner indicating he did not really care.

'Might? MIGHT? Draco, I won't survive it if you die! I've lost too many, much too many! Are you blind? Deaf? Stupid? Can't you see I love you, insanely, desperately? Wrongly, perhaps?'

'Harry,' Draco's face softened, 'I've done so much wrong in my life. I must understand that I see this as a way to find redemption. I've never done anything to help before, I've caused more wrong than right. I need to... to do something. Anything. I cant just live knowing that when I could have made a difference, Is at backed out like a coward.'

'So you're just going to let them use you as bait?'

'Its as simple as that. No, Harry, don't say anything else. I have some hours, maybe – probably – my last. Lets spend them together, not fighting, but just... together. Please?'

Harry lost all the anger in him when he heard these tenderly spoken words. He knew he could not talk Draco out of it – just as he knew that he should not.

The afternoon drew to an end, and the tiny, sharp-edged crescent moon rose magnificently in the sky. One by one, the speck-sized stars were lit, until the sky was a huge stretch of dark velvet littered with glitter.

The two did not see this. They saw, heard, thought about – nothing. It was just the two of them, the soft Egyptian cotton under them, the heat, the desperation. Both knew this might be their first, last and only night together, the only chance they would have to experience real closure.

There were hands, hands mapping out backs and sides and thighs, soft and hesitant, trying to remember every angle and every texture and every curve. There were mouths, kissing and tasting, drawing red-hot paths here and there, warm and moist an heavenly. There was skin, tanned and ivory. There were eyes, silver and emerald, ablaze with passion and desire. There were legs, entwined and weak, trembling with every touch and kiss. There was hair, platinum and ebony, damp with sweat and sticking to faces.

They lay next to each other for the last precious minutes, afraid to draw apart, afraid to lose each other. This one night bonded them stronger than a lifetime could, and both felt an infinite, overwhelming, wholly consuming love for one another, a love that was highlighted by the prospect of possible loss of it all.

What could they do? What could they say? What WAS there to do? They did not say anything. There was no need for words, no need for anything but them. Just there. Just in that moment. Each silently praying, toe very god imaginable, that this would not be their last night.

It seemed as though it was years – sunlit, beautiful, joyful, perfect years – later when Draco sat up and began pulling on his clothes.

There was a look of marble-hard determination upon his beautiful face, as he placed his wand in the holster upon his upper arm. This was it. The time to say goodbye.

'I wont say anything,' Draco spoke, quietly, not turning around. He could not bear to see the distraught Harry sitting, stark naked, in the tangle of sheets. 'Because I am coming back.'

Harry tried to suppress a sob – a failed miserably.

'Don' you see?' Draco continued, 'Harry, you've given me something to live for. Something to keep fighting for. By – by just being here, with me. And it's more than anyone ever gave me.'

Tears were now streaming freely down Harry's cheeks.

'Come back,' he managed, quietly and hoarsely.

'I will,' Draco smiled to himself, 'I will.'

'Swear to me!'

'I swear. You trust me, don't you, Harry?'

'Yes. I trust you.'

Draco turned to face Harry for the briefest moment, gave him a watery smile and Disapparated. In that moment, Harry's heart broke a million times.


	12. Ministry

'Mr. Malfoy, please follow me,' the pretty secretary smiled at Draco professionally, and began leading him into the depth of the Ministry.

They walked past the glass doors of the offices, down the long, carpeted corridors, past the employees that were running here and there.

The secretary lead him into the Minister's office – a small, cosy room with many bookshelves, soft illumination and a very homey feel to it.

'Draco Malfoy, welcome,' the new Minister, appointed only a few weeks ago, stood up from the chair. He was a tall man, silver-haired and very official-looking. Auror in the past, he had not been heard of until his rather unexpected appointment. It was a gamble, putting an unknown man on this high position, but one that had ended up being successful. After mere days he was being praised for his determination, devotion and decisiveness.

'Sir,' Draco nodded, 'I believe I am on time.'

'Yes – yes,' the Minister gestured to the secretary, 'the Aurors should be arriving in a few seconds.'

'Who is coming with me?'

'Mr. Krum, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. We would have sent more, but we simply have no others. Most are dead, or in St. Mungos. Five are guarding the Ministry, two Hogwarts and the three are going with you. Those are all we have now. Ah, here they are...'

Just as he said this, the three Aurors Apparated in the office. Ron still looked a little peaky, but despite his paleness, he had recovered wholly. All three were dressed in black. Hermione's sleek auburn hair was tied into a tight ponytail. All three brandished their wands.

'Minister,' Hermione spoke, 'I believe you wanted to fill us in on the plan.'

'Of course. Please, stand around the table,' the Minster returned to his seat.

With one smooth movement he whisked all the papers off the desk. He waved his wand and the glass surface transformed into a map.

'Right,' he jabbed the map with the tip of his wand in one place, 'you will Apparate to the cemetery where Mr. Malfoy's parents are buried. Buy flowers, Mr. Malfoy, pretend you are there to visit them. We already had Professor Snape inform He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that you shall be there. The plan is simple. Miss Granger, Mr. Krum and Mr. Weasley shall hide themselves and wait until the Deatheaters will turn up.'

Draco grimaced.

'With all due respect, Minister, what if he himself turns up? Or what if they discover its all a set-up?'

'Mr. Malfoy, we have no other options. You knew you were risking your life when you agreed to do this, so... As to your protection party, trust me in that they will be able to conceal themselves. So well that the Dark Lord himself will not be able to recognize them.'

'You don't have to do this,' Viktor spoke, in his quiet but firm voice.

'I know,' Draco looked at the map intently, staring at one spot and yet not seeing it.

'And another thing. Professor Snape asked me to give you this,' the Minister opened a drawer and extracted a crystal vial of a swirling white liquid. 'Its Morffianis,

a pain-killing potion. He said you might need it, since we have nothing else that will help you stand against the Ancient Curses. Take it.'

Draco slid the vial into an inner pocket of his jacket. It felt cold.

'And another thing,' the Minster went on, 'you are authorized to use the Unforgivable Curses. Good luck.'

Draco closed his eyes, his mind completely filled with the image of Harry. Would he ever see him again?

'Let's go,' Hermione said quietly.

It was cold. Unnaturally so. Draco felt the blood retreat from his face and huddled into his jacket – seemingly so thick, but in reality doing ever so little to protect him from the bitter frost. Or was the fear that was chilling his bones?

The graveyard was empty at this time of the night. Long, level rows of neat, well-tended for gravestones and small tombs. Cold, monumental statues of angels and saints, carefully painted fences and – peace. It was ironic, really, that the only place where Draco had experienced such a profound tranquillity was here, where there was so much death.

Hermione smiled wearily. Draco saw her hand sneak, unintentionally, to her growing stomach. He could already see a small bulge under her tight black shirt. Viktor nodded in his curt manner. Ron pretended he was busy with his shoelace – Draco knew that the red-head still disliked him greatly.

Draco began walking down the narrow path. He did not look back. He did not want to know where the three would hide – in case he might be tempted to look there and give himself away.

He found his parents' grave easily enough. It was the largest there. A hauntingly beautiful, Gothic tombstone made of silvery-grey marble, his parents' wedding picture, their names and dates. No soppy poetic epitaphs – he knew they would not have wanted them.

Hesitating for a minute, he kneeled before the grave. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. Did he have to do something? Did he have to say something?

He did not say anything. Instead, his mind strayed to Harry Potter, to those few, seemingly so short, hours of precious tenderness he had granted him. He felt such a pang of emotions – a mixture of fear, confusion, love, longing – that it frightened him. For Draco Malfoy had never been in love before. And the pure, undiluted strength of this emotion scared him.

What would happen? Not only to him and Harry as a... (he wanted to say couple, but were they?) but to his own life. Would he die? Never before he wished so hardly to have the gift of Divination – he would have given almost anything to know what was to come. He detested uncertainness.

He did not jump when he heard the footsteps behind him; he'd been expecting them. Neither was he very surprised when someone grabbed his shoulder. A cold, bony hand. Lord Voldemort's.


	13. Fear

'Well, well, well,' a cold, inhuman voice spoke quietly into his ear. 'At last our pretty Malfoy is out of his hiding-hole.'

Draco turned around, and looked, proud and unafraid, into the terrible, cruel, snake-like face.

'Visiting your parents, I see,' Voldemort sneered. Draco saw the shapes of the Deatheaters in the distance, surrounding them. This was it. He was going to die. There was no way the three Aurors were going to save him now.

'Yeah. You killed them, in case you don't remember. You wouldn't, would you? I suppose its hard to keep up when you've murdered thousands.'

'Feisty, Mr. Malfoy, feisty,' Voldemort's vice-like grip on Draco's shoulder became harder. Draco grimaced a little as Voldemort's nails cut through his skin. He felt the damp coolness of blood. 'Just like that Potter boy.'

He must have seen something in Draco's face, because a moment later a look that was something like glee lit Voldemort's face.

'My, my, this is precious! I would not have believed it if I had not just seen it in your mind! You're in love with Harry Potter!'

Malfoy flushed. Damn, he thought, where had all his famous Malfoy self-control gone?

'This is certainly a pleasant discovery,' Voldemort continued in his jeering voice, 'not only will I have the location of what I need, but I will also get to kill idiot Potter's lover! And I will certainly enjoy doing it...'

Draco moved to grab his wand – but Voldemort twisted his hand so hard that for a moment Draco thought he'd pass out from the pain.

'Ah, ah, Draco dear, be a good boy, shall we? Perhaps I'll let you live an hour longer if you behave. Or kill you faster, whichever you prefer.'

The Deatheaters were close now, and Draco could make out their faces. Hard faces, faces that were made mask-like by the torturing, the killing, the inflicting of pain and suffering.

'What do you want?' Draco hissed, cold fear creeping into his heart.

'I want what your father stole from me.'

'What?'

'Stop playing the idiot.'

'God, I am not! What did he steal from you?'

'Something precious to me.'

'And why do you think I have it?'

'I do not think. I know you have it.'

'What?'

'I refuse for a moment to believe you know nothing, Draco Malfoy,' Voldemort was quickly losing his temper. He turned to the Deatheaters, 'bind him, put him in the dungeon that was prepared. Let him think a little.'

Three pairs of hands grabbed Draco. He looked round wildly, hoping to see the Aurors appear any moment now. But they did not. They let the Deatheaters take him and lead him away, into the dark and cold night.

Harry was pacing his room, covering the distance from the window to the door in ten level steps. Again and again he walked the short distance, unable to keep calm, unable to steady his erratically beating his heart and his raging nerves.

To say that he was afraid for Draco would have been to say nothing at all. He was shaking with fear, shaking so hard that one would have though he was naked in the snow.

It had been four hours and twenty-five minutes since Draco left. Harry's eyes had been fixed to the clock all this time, and it seemed as though time was moving unnaturally slowly.

He tried to eat, but food refused to go down his throat. Then he tried to drink, to get drunk and forget all of this, even if for a little, but he remained terribly sober. He saw Draco's pack of cigarettes by the bed, and lit one. He spluttered a little as he inhaled the smoke, and the warm smoke fell into his stomach, comforting and calming.

More hours passed. It was late night now, and no news had come. He knew that to try and sleep would be folly, so he went no-where near the bed. He was also afraid, lest he should fall asleep, of having dreams. Horror-filled dreams of Draco.

He looked around the room, the sight of all the little things that reminded him of Draco making his very soul ache. 'The Da Vinci Code,' lying half-opened on the couch. Draco's denim jacket, hanging on the chair. An apple that Draco had meant to eat, on the bedside cabinet. Draco's reading glasses next to the book...

He could bear it no longer; any longer, and he knew he'd go insane. Harry got up, pulled on a coat and walked outside. He did not yet know where to go. Visit Fleur in the hospital? No, he could not bear coming face-to-face with proof of his failure. The Weasleys'? No, the thought of Fred and George's cheerfulness and Mrs. Weasley's gentle comforting was just too much.

There was one other place he could go.

Draco had been in here for hours. The freezing, pitch-black dungeon. For the first half hour or so he had walked the walls, blinding groping and feeling the stone. The door through which they had tossed him unceremoniously inside had disappeared. There was nothing at all in here – just the stone and the darkness and the horrible loneliness.

He knew he was doomed. He had seen it in the inhuman, red eyes of Voldemort, in the cruel taunts and jeers of the Deatheaters who had brought him here. He would not live to see Harry again. He'll be killed as soon as Voldemort got what he wanted out of him.

The question was – what?


	14. Confessions and Revelations

Hogwarts seemed smaller to Harry. His childish imagination had fixed an imagine of vastness and hugeness in his memory, but now he saw it as familiar and so very homely, and seemingly much smaller.

It was early morning; the sun was rising, colouring the sky in all hues of minty greens, peachy pinks and pale oranges. The castle was before him, made of huge stones, and the grounds stretched in front of him, a carpet of rich green. Slowly, he made his way up the road and to the front doors of the castle. It felt like coming home.

It is not surprising that he decided to come here, now of all places. Firstly, he wanted to talk to the Headmistress – the present Head of the Order of the Phoenix. Another reason was that he was out of some potions that he needed to ask Severus to make. He guessed he also saw this as an opportunity to escape from the confinement of his apartment and do something that might take his mind, even it was not for long, off Draco. But probably the biggest reason was his desire to feel at home. And he could feel this nowhere but here.

Students gaped at him as he walked down the corridor; small, cute children who were so safe and happy in this fortress. It felt strange that only a few years ago Harry and his friends were here, laughing and talking.

The crowds parted for him, and he heard the faint buzz of whisper as he passed. The Potions dungeon was empty – Severus clearly had a blank lesson. The Professor himself was sitting at his desk, massaging his temples with two long fingers.

'Severus?' Harry said as he walked in. He felt eleven again, sitting at that corner table and being bullied by the Snape he hated then.

'Harry? What are you doing here?' the tired black eyes looked questioningly at him.

'You don't know?' Harry answered with a question.

'I can only see fear,' Severus said, quietly, as Harry felt him slip into his mind, 'but you are not afraid for yourself. Draco. He's -'

'He's gone. He's helping the Ministry.' Harry did not need to say anything else.

'I'm sorry.'

'What am I to do, Severus?'

'About what?' Severus pretended not to know. Harry knew that the Potions Master was making him say it aloud. He really was a brilliant psychologist.

'I love him, Severus. I love him so much it hurts. It hurts to know that he might not come back. It hurts to know that I can't just whisk him away and protect him from every evil to walk on this earth. It hurts when he is not near...

And it hurts that it's wrong. It so wrong, and yet it feels so right, so perfect, so wonderful. We belong together, Severus, and yet we should not. We're perfectly different, him and me -'

'Five and ice,' a small smile curved Severus' thin lips, 'heat and coldness. Black and white. Onyx and silver. Don't you see Harry? You're so perfect for one another because you are so different. You complete each other, you and Draco. And about it being wrong... My advice it – send everyone to hell. If Draco is who makes you happy, turn away from the folly, shallow prejudices of the world and just be happy.'

'Severus, you're close to Voldemort. What does he want from Draco?'

Severus suddenly became alert. His face became hard and serious, eyes – suspicious and intense.

'What did Draco tell you?'

'Nothing,' Harry said, taken aback by the reaction. 'That's why I'm asking you.'

'Are you sure you want to know?'

'I'm sure I need to know.'

Severus closed his eyes, as if preparing himself for something. Then he took a quill and began writing. A minute or so later he pushed the the parchment towards Harry.

Harry read -

_I am under an Unbreakable Vow, so I am forbidden from telling anyone anything about it. Go to the library, Professors' Section, shelve five, third row from the top. Red book with a velvet front cover. _

'Thank you, Severus,' Harry exhaled. He felt the familiar surge of excitement; he was going to uncover all the secrets soon.

'He would have wanted me to help you,' Severus said.

'You miss him, don't you?'

'Yes. I miss him indescribably. That's why I don't want you to have to go through the torture I am going through. Go, Harry. Go. Don't waste any time.'

Harry surged forward and embraced Severus for a moment, and after that he sped out of the dungeon.

* * *

The Professors' Section in the Library was so secret that the students knew nothing about it. Harry, as a member of the Order, was told about it on the night of his initiation. This was where the books on the Dark Arts were kept, books so dangerous that they were not even allowed to be kept in the Restricted Section.

Harry sneaked into the little room, and, having locked the door behind himself, turned his attention to the dozen shelves. It was dark here. So dark that the torch he bore seemed to not disperse the darkness, but make it seem even denser. The very air was foul in here, drenched with the Dark Arts; with ancient, forgotten evil.

The shelves were numbered, so Harry found the fifth easily enough. He stood on tiptoes to see the third row, and sure enough, there was the red book. It was disappointingly thin – he had been expecting a great big tome packed with spells of evil.

He slid down the wall, and, illuminating the book with the torch he held in one hand, opened it. The pages were faded yellow, dusty, thick and coarse – clearly about four or five hundred years old. The ink had been made pale by time, no longer black but a sort of faded grey.

It was a diary. Whose, it was not said. Actually, there was only one entry, in the beginning of the book, two pages filled with neat calligraphy.

'For the past five months I have been studying the artifact, and only recently did I, with the help of Father, discovered its true purpose.

Ever since I came across it, in a Muggle shop, I knew it to be an item of evil. I do not know how, but I knew it instantaneously. I have never seen the amulet before, neither have I heard about it. My Father had not, either. Most peculiar, seeing as we both work with antiques and artifacts, and have come across, I can surely say, almost every magickal item that has ever existed.

It is a most beautiful creation, too, made of purest silver, with the thinnest border of runes and sigils. These were what made me truly afraid – for I, who have studied runes for over ten years, do not know half of them. The ones I did recognize are all rules of evil – of death, suffering, pain. I have tried to trace the large and lovely emerald set into it, but again, all my attempts lead to nothing. Stones of this size – and it more than two carats – are usually marked with the jeweller's name, but this one is not. All in all, it is as though the amulet appeared out of no-where.

And only a few hours ago, I have found perhaps the only book in which this amulet is written about. It had been lost for many thousands of years; the last time it was seen was in the time of the legendary King Arthur. He gave it to Guinevere, his wife, as a wedding present. When she and Lancelot, her lover, ran away, Arthur, overcome with anger, asked his witch-sister Morrigan to curse the amulet to bring upon his unfaithful wife suffering and death. Legend says it was upon this day that the strange sigils appeared on the silver, although Guinevere was to see them. She died a week later, in great agony, and no doctor was able to help the cursed Queen.

The amulet had not been seen since, but it was heard of – as the Amulet of Death, and it was said that anyone who comes into it's possession will die a gruesome death. But many have sought it, because -'

The writing ended here – the bottom of the page had been torn off.

Harry lowered the book, head buzzing with the information he had just taken in. So Lucius had stolen this Amulet from Voldemort. This discovery posed more questions than it answered – why did Voldemort want an Amulet that killed people? Surely he had enough ways to kill? Where was the Amulet hidden? What did Draco had to do anything with it – he had said, and Harry was sure he as saying the truth, that he had no idea what his Father took and where it was hidden. What was – really - going on?


	15. Deception

Was it morning already, Draco wondered. He felt ill. Ill from not having eaten anything for so long, ill from the cold that was in the very centre of his bones, that gave him goose-skin, that made it impossible for him to sleep.

And even worse was that he felt betrayed. The Ministry had used him. Used him ruthlessly and shamelessly, handed him over to Voldemort so that he would stop killing them. He had been such a naпve idiot to believe the Ministry was on his side.

The Aurors were never there to protect him. They probably Apparated right back. The Ministry never saw Draco as an ally. It saw Draco as a Slytherin. A Malfoy. The son of a Deatheater. An enemy they could safely use to their own advantage.

Draco huddled deeper into his jacket, but he could not keep warm. His teeth began clattering a little.

Then he heard the metallic door opening. He was suddenly blinded by a bright, white light. When he regained the ability to see, a yelp escaped from his lips.

Surely he was delusional. Surely this was just a figment of his over-active imagination. Surely he was dreaming, his mind showing him what he most wanted to see just to give him some comfort. For what he saw was Harry.

His tall, lean body, honed and perfected by years of Quidditch, was framed in the doorway. Ebony-black hair tousled and falling over his eyebrows, framing the pale, hatchet face. Startlingly green eyes, squinting sexily, looking at him from behind the long black lashes, almost coyly. Full, sensual lips slightly parted and curved with the smallest of smiles.

'H – Harry?' Draco murmured. 'You?'

'Me,' Harry said, voice smooth and silky, caressing Draco's ears. 'I've come to get you out of here.'

Draco staggered to his feet, hoping against all hope this was not a cruel dream of any sort.

His hand rose and touched Harry's face, feeling the smooth, pale and cool skin. He was real, Harry was real! He really was here, in flesh and blood!

Draco's eyes rimmed with tears, and his lips met Harry's in a desperate, needy kiss. Harry's hands wound around Draco's waist, pulling him closer, moulding their bodies together.

Their tongues met and began dancing the heated, intimate dance together, caressing each other. Harry bit Draco's lower lip, pulling at it deliciously. It was a kiss purely of passion, burning and freezing, hurting and healing at the same time.

'Harry?' he said, again, pulling away, 'is it really you?'

'Of course its me,' Harry grinned haughtily, 'weren't you expecting me to come and save you?'

'I – I didn't think you'll find me. You were hurt, too...'

'I'll kill him, Draco,' he said, with intense emotion in his voice, although what that emotion was Draco could not guess. Anger? Bitterness? 'I'll kill him for doing so much evil to me.'

'But how on earth did you get in?'

'I managed to get past the Deatheaters easily enough. But lets not talk about that now. Draco, do you love me?'

Draco was confused. Didn't they need to run? Now, before the Deatheaters discovered Harry had gotten in?

'Harry, of course I love you! Did I not already prove it?'

'Of course you did, my love. Come here.'

Draco moved a step closer, letting Harry embrace him. The brunet's hands were warm and solid on the small of his back, comfortingly so. Draco closed his eyes, taking in the smell of spices and tea, of the apple shampoo Harry used. So familiar, so wonderful.

'Where is the Amulet, Draco?' the voice was now cold and paralysing, and the terrible realization seared through Draco's mind.

Harry was in the Ministry. He could wait no longer, he had to know what was going on. It had been hours, many hours, and yet he had received no news.

Fleur smiled at him from her desk. Tonks winked at him from her office. Shaklebolt greeted him from where he was standing, talking to Arthur. Harry made his way to the Minister's office. The Minister looked up when he entered.

'Mr. Potter?' there was surprise in his voice, 'what are you doing here?'

'I came to request permission to join Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Viktor Krum.'

'Mr. Potter, I'm afraid my permission is no longer necessary. They have already returned.'

'Really? What about Mr. Malfoy, then?'

The Minster looked uncomfortable.

'Well – ah, no, as a matter of fact -'

And then Harry understood everything. This was all a setup. The Ministry sent Draco to his death. The Aurors were never supposed to protect Draco. They handed Draco to Voldemort on a silver platter. And Harry stood and watched as they did. He never did a thing.

Harry raced out of the office. Tears, bitter angry tears welled in his eyes as he ran past the many offices. He'd go and save Draco, he had to, he was the only one who could do it now.

Then he saw Hermione and Viktor in the corridor, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes.

Harry lost it. He approached them with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and just as Hermione was about to greet him, his hand lashed out and slapped her hard across the face.


	16. Understanding It All

'Whats gotten into you?' Hermione managed, her hand on her smarting cheek, eyes wide with shock and hurt.

'You lied to me!' Harry screamed, 'You. One of the few people I trusted completely, you lied to me!'

The young woman's pretty face became quizzical.

'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Draco! You handed him over to Voldemort!'

'Harry, I thought Draco was with you! The Minster contacted us and told us it was all off. He said Draco Apparated to you, and that we were to pull out and return home.'

Harry saw sincere surprise in her eyes, and knew instantaneously she was not lying.

'Where is he?' he asked sharply.

'Wait, so he isn't -?'

'Dammit, Hermi, no he is not with me! Tell me where you took him!'

'T – to the graveyard. Where his parents are buried. What is going on?'

He did not hear the last sentence – he had Apparated without letting her finish.

The graveyard was empty. It was quiet but for the rustling leaves of the trees, but Harry had no time to admire the surroundings. He found the Malfoy gravestones quickly enough -

'_Akoluthos _raco Malfoy,' Harry said quietly, pointing his wand at the gravestones. He saw Draco, kneeling, head bowed as if in prayer.

He seized at it with his mind, willing himself to relax and letting the image permeate his being. He had never tried the so-called instinctive Apparating before, when one Apparates to a certain person, without knowing where they are, by thinking of them hard enough. This was a good enough time to try, though.

He felt the familiar fluttering inside of his stomach. Flashes of light. Blurred sort of sound.

Moments after, he fell onto hard stone. Throwing his hands forward, he managed to soften the fall, but his knees still took a considerable blow.

He looked up. And what he saw was so strange, so bizarre, that at first he though this was an absurd dream or something of that sort.

After all one does not usually see their lover, backed against the wall, with themselves standing before him. And Harry saw that, whoever (whatever?) was standing before Draco was Harry Potter exactly. The resemblance was more than that which can be achieved by Polyjuice Potion – there was the smell of his shampoo, of the herbal tea he drank, of his soap.

He saw Draco's eyes widen in a mixture of fear and shock, and a moment later the blond slid down the wall in utter exhaustion and confusion.

'Harry Potter,' his second self turned to him now, but he was speaking in a voice that made Harry's skin crawl with hatred. Voldemort's voice. It was a disgusting sight to him, himself speaking with the voice of his mortal enemy. 'I applaud you, you got here exceptionally fast. Not fast enough to stop your pretty lover form speaking, though. What a pity.'

Harry's eyes bore into Draco, who shook his head a fraction of an inch either side. Harry saw past the saucer-wide eyes, past the denial. Draco had told Voldemort.

Voldemort used that moment when all of Harry's attention was on Draco, and shot a disarming spell at him. Harry flung himself aside, feeling the spell whiz dangerously close to his head – and thanking his Quidditch reflexes.

'Harry!' Draco shouted, but Voldemort did something, and Draco was flung aside. He made impact with the stone wall, and lost conciousness.

'No more distractions,' Voldemort said, with a sneer that looked so strange on Harry's face.

Harry did not know what angered him more – the way Voldemort had treated Draco or the way he had used Harry's own body to trick Draco. But the mixture of these two made him so insanely furious that every rational thought left his mind, leaving only the blazing flames of wrath there.

He started to throw spell after spell at Voldemort, but his hands shook and his aim was poor, so it was only too easy for Voldemort to dodge or deflect them. And the angrier Harry got, the happier Voldemort seemed to be.

When a spell flew too close to Voldemort for his comfort, he decided it was time to do something. Languidly raising his hand, he aimed at Harry (who had stopped spitting spells and was now scowling darkly at his enemy). Harry waited.

Voldemort took his time, smiling as he saw Harry growing impatient and anxious.

Then he threw an Avada Kedavra of terrifying power and precision. Harry watched, suddenly calm, and he saw the green spell fly at him as if it was in slow motion. He ducked, falling onto his knees and bending his head so that the spell flew some inches above him head. Voldemort had been a fool. He had forgotten that the stones of the dungeon had been spelled to be unbreakable. Which meant that the Avada Kedavra bounced off the stone and flew at it's caster.

Voldemort did not have the reflexes that Harry possessed. He was paralysed by utter surprise when he saw the death-spell going in his direction. And it hit him a fraction of a second later.

Harry was blinded by a bright light of an indistinguishable colour, and he heard a piercing, inhuman scream. He knew that the spell had hit Voldemrot, that his enemy was dying.

And then he realized something. The Horcruxes. They had found the Horcruxes the year Dumbledore had been killed. Him, Severus, Hermione and Ron had spent the summer looking for them, and how they found them and destroyed them is a different story. The problem was, they had found all but the last one, the last one that was not within Voldemort.

And now he knew Voldemort was not dead yet, and the simple realization came to him. Malfoy Senior had stolen something from Voldemort. Something that Voldemort needed desperately. Something he thought Draco knew the location of. The last Horcrux, it had to be! How could he have not seen it before?

Harry ran to Draco. He placed his head on his knees, running his fingers through the platinum hair, checking for any damage. There seemed to be none; Draco had just been knocked unconscious.

'H - Harry?' Draco's eyes fluttered open. He manged a weak smile. 'I'm so sorry. I told him everything. I – I couldn't help myself...'

'It's okay,Draco, its okay. Tell me where the Amulet is, I know it's the last Horcrux, tell me and we'll have it destroyed and Voldemort will be dead for good.'

Draco sat up abruptly.

'Harry, you dolt, Voldemort told the Deatheaters where the Amulet is minutes before you turned up! They'll be there now!'

* * *

A/N - See my forum on to chat about the Harry/Draco pairing, to post links to fics, or to ask me to write a fic for them 


	17. Against All Odds

'Arthur!' Harry burst into Arthur Weasley's office, panting, 'I know where the last Horcrux is!'

'Wha -? Harry, what did you just say?'

'The – last – Horcrux! I know where it is! I'm going to need all the Aurors that can be mustered in one minute and then we're off!'

'What?'

'No time. Who are in the office?'

'Um... Fleur, Hermione, Tonks, Shaklebolt, Dean, Ron. Wait – Harry!'

But Harry had already disappeared behind the next door, where he barked at the Aurors drinking tea to get up and get ready.

Harry thanked the famous Auror training – his colleagues asked nothing at all. They merely jumped to their feet, and as soon as Harry told them where to go, they were all off.

Despite the fact that Harry knew where the hiding place was, the rancid stench of Dark magic came as a surprise. It was horribly acidic, corrosive, burning mouth and tongue alike, making breathing a laborious and, if not really a painful, but certainly an unpleasant business.

They were in a house. Somewhere in the south of Ireland, Harry knew. A dingy, run-down, dilapidated house with peeling wallpaper and rotting linoleum and ceilings that had once been white and were now covered with something that looked that soot.

It would have been absolutely quiet if it had not been for the distinct, and angry, voices of what was probably a whole dozen Deatheaters in the adjacent room.

'Crabbe, you jerk! I told you it wouldn't work'

'How was I supposed to know the bloody thing has a Warding Shield around it! It's invisible!'

'Shut up, will you? Lord Voldemort said it was urgent!'

'Well if you're so clever you go and get it!' the first two voices said together.

'Well, I've never credited them with an overabundance of brains,' Harry muttered. Hermione, who was nearest him, stifled a smile.

Harry beckoned at his companions, making them huddle around him.

'Okay, we don't know how many are there. Could be three, could be twenty - '

'- there will be, knowing our luck -' Ron commented.

'- so I say we go in there and improvise-'

'- meaning be cannon-fodder-'

'- will you shut up, Ron?'

Ron closed his mouth, huffily. Tonks giggled nervously.

'Are you willing to take that risk, Harry?' Shaklebolt's calm voice had a strangely soothing effect.

Harry thought of Draco's lovely, pale face - his pale, aristocratic, refined beauty, haughty eyes and sarcastic remarks. A warm smile flashed across his face.

'Yes. I am,' he answered, and not for a single moment was there any hesitation, 'are you all with me?'

'If you are sure,' in the half-light, Fleur resembled a fairy princess of some sort even

more – even in Bill's oversized shirt an dirty combats, 'I am.'

Dean shrugged, indicating he too was in. Tonks winked merrily. Shaklebolt placed an encouraging hand on Harry's shoulder. Hermione nodded.

Harry turned to Ron.

'If you'd rather -'

'Don't be daft,' Ron cut across him, ''course I'm with you. Always was, wasn't I?'

Harry grinned, but a second later he turned professional.

'Fleur and Tonks, you take the left. Dean and Shaklebolt – the right. I will take the centre. Ron and Hermi – I want you to keep the rear.'

'Harry, I think you'd be able to use -' Hermione flushed at the thought of being left behind.

'Hermi, stay. You're my best friends. I've lost enough already, so you two will stay here, where it is safe. Besides, you have the baby to think of now. No heroics, either of you – promise?'

Ron looked less than happy when he heard this, but Hermione lowered her eyes - she had to admit he was right. Even though she hated having to admit this.

'Good luck,' he said finally, and took a step forward.

Upon his mark they launched their attack. Harry swept into the room, and immediately realized that he should have listened to Ron. No, there were not twenty. There were about three dozen Deatheaters, all packed into the cavernous hall - which seemed like a tiny place from the outside.

They could hardly say 'sorry, mistake' and leave, could they? So Harry flung himself at the nearest Deatheater, tackling the man who was twice as big as him. The element of surprise worked – for a few precious seconds the Deatheaters did nothing.

Harry stunned three as he went, trying to fight him way to the centre of the room. However, this proved to be difficult once the Deatheaters realized what exactly was happening. Sending spells right, left and centre, without really realizing what he was doing or what exactly he was casting, Harry let his anger loose. Every bit of frustration and hatred he had felt in the last few days was set free. He had no idea how he managed to parry most of the spells, had no idea how he dodged and flung himself aside and ducked and jumped and lunged. He felt strangely separated from his body – like he wasn't really controlling it. The instincts, the primal, animalistic desire to live took over and he could not do anything about it.

He glimpsed Tonks and Hermione, back-to-back, surrounded by Deatheaters, Fleur swearing in French as spell after spell erupted from her wand. Tonks, a wide, almost maniacal smile on her face, as she jinxed enemy after enemy. Something caught her arm and her jacket sleeve became red, but she did not seem to notice.

He heard a yelp fo pain and was pretty sure it was Dean's, but his attention was immediately diverted by a the sight of six Deatheaters grouped in the centre of the room. They were guarding something. Something he had to get to.

Wishing he had his Invisibility Cloak now, Harry shouted 'Expelliarmus Forte!', which cleared his way a little. He was a few metres closer now, but was surrounded by an almost solid wall of Deatheaters, who were not yet attacking him, but had such bloodthirsty looks on their faces that he was sure they would be more than glad to. He had about a split second to decide on his next action.

Fleur screamed somewhere behind him. Harry fought the instinct to run to her, but forced himself to stay put. A single Deatheater separated himself from the mass of black.

'Give up, Potter,' her voice was low and familiar. The woman who had murdered Sirius, all those years ago.

If Harry had been angry before, now he was beyond angry. He reached such an intense level of loathing and fear that they simply disappeared, leaving his mind calm and rational.

'I'd rather die,' he said coldly, brandishing his wand.

'My pleasure,' she laughed.

A flash of green. Harry ducked, and it passed above him, singing his hair. Another flash. He rolled sideways, knocking a few Deatheaters off their feet as he went.

Jumping up, he sent a spell at her, but missed, simply making her stagger. She laughed. Disapparating and Apparating in the next instant right in front of him. Harry smiled, a smile that was Slytherin-y in every way. And then she attacked.

He watched the Avada Kedevra fly at him, watched it calmly as it hit his chest and bounced off him. The woman had not realized he had put up a shield. She fell with a low thud, and her unseeing eyes became fixed on the ceiling...


	18. Revelations

Harry dodged yet another spell, hurling himself against a wall. The bolt of light passed inches from his face, and collided with one of the Deatheaters. Tossing a strand of hair off his face, he threw himself into the battle.

The next minutes passed in a blur of attacks, parries, dodges, lunges and hurriedly cast spells. And still, he was no nearer the last Horcrux than he had been before. The ring of cloaked figures was impenetrable – they would not let him through, no matter how hard he tired to break through their defence.

Gritting his teeth, he tossed random spells, his only aim being to hurl them as fast as he could. For a split second, there was an opening in the black wall – and he pushed through.

For a moment, time seemed to stop; so great was his shock. There, on a stone slab in the middle of the room, lay a bruised and tousled, but very alive-looking...

Remus.

'Remus...' Harry muttered, not quite believing his eyes. He shook his head. Remus was still there.

His rational part was screaming that this was a trick of Voldemort's. That it was nothing more than someone (or something) that was made to look like Remus, just to stop Harry's hand.

Except then Remus looked up at him, and there was hope and relief shining in his pale eyes, pure hope, and joy and a little disbelief. And instantly Harry knew it was him, Remus.

'Let's go,' Harry grabbed Remus hand, deciding to think about all this when they were somewhere safe.

The Deatheaters were yelling something, but he cursed two and saw Hermione and two others attack the remaining, shock evident on their faces.

'No,' Remus murmured gently, his hand covering Harry's. 'You know you have to do it.'

'What...?'

'He placed the Horcrux inside my being. The only way to stop him coming back is to kill me.' Remus spoke in a faraway, emotionless tone, as if he was not really talking about his own death.

'We'll find a way,' Harry exclaimed frantically, looking around to make sure no-one was aiming at them. He took a second to cast a charm that concealed them from everyone's eyes. 'I just have to get you out of here.'

'I will not have anything to do with his return, Harry,' Remus said wearily, sitting up. 'I will not. I'd rather die. And you know that is the only thing to do.'

Harry shook his head, his hands shaking, eyes huge.

'Remus, I – I can't.'

'You must.'

'No.'

'Harry...!'

A sudden idea struck Harry. It was crazy, but in the circumstances, he did not see any alternatives.

Harry looked around, and then shouted an order, at which his companions all looked at him and lifted they hands, signaling that they understood.

'Come with me, Remus,' he said decisively and calmly, and Apparated them.

Besides Harry and Remus, only McGonnagal, who had been summoned from Hogwarts, a dazed Severus and two Healers were in the room.

Remus was nervous, biting his lip and tapping his fingers on the metallic hospital table. Severus' hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white. McGonnagal appeared as calm as ever, a slight paleness giving away that she was anything but.

'Are you sure it's going to work you?' Remus asked again.

'Well, it's better than the alternative,' Harry shrugged, eyeing the Muggle equipment that surrounded Remus. 'Ready?"

Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Severus took a step towards the table and grasped Remus' hand, trying to comfort him without words.

Remus closed his eyes.

'Avada Kedavra,' Harry whispered, a single tear running down his face.

Time seemed to halt as Remus' eyes went wide and then closed slowly, millimetre by millimetre. The hand that Severus still held grew slack.

Harry looked away as the Healers rushed to Remus' side and began to press something on the whirring machines, shouting orders Harry did not understand.

What if he had been wrong? What if the curse could not be counteracted? He knew there was no spell to bring back the dead. How many chances were there that Muggle technology would be able to do what magic could not?

He pressed his face to the cold glass that was one of the walls, trying to block out the Healer's voices and the beeping of the machines, concentrating on his erratic heartbeat instead.

A simple and undiluted fear ran through his blood. What if he was wrong? What if Remus was really dead? What if killing him and bringing him back would not destroy the Horcrux? What if, what if, what if?

Minutes passed – minutes that seemed like long, endlessly long, years to him.

And then there was silence.

Harry froze, too afraid to turn around.

Then he heard Severus sobbing quietly.

Harry shut his eyes tighter, feeling tears run down his face, an overwhelming guilt suppressing every other emotion. He had been wrong. Wrong all along.

And now, because of his folly, Remus was dead.

'Harry?' McGonnagal placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. 'Son?'

Harry turned around - and it took all his strength to do it. Except then he felt his knees go weak as he saw Severus hugging a very much alive Remus.

The last thing Harry remembered was the Healers telling Severus that they had to take Remus to be examined, but he knew, just knew, that everything was going to be alright...


	19. Epilogue

It was late – just past midnight. The silver full was high in the black sky, the glitter of stars shining merrily as they looked down on the graveyard. It was quiet – too quiet perhaps, the sort of quiet that was melancholy – sad. It was a strange time to hold a funeral, but the attendants had wanted it to be private, quiet, personal.

The funeral was small – only a handful of attendants, and the priest. Fleur's lovely face looked at Harry from one of the elegant, grey tombstones, Dean's – from the second. The ring of Aurors and friends, all clad in black, was silent.

Harry surveyed the assembled. Hermione, pale, but dry-eyed. Viktor, whose arms were around his fiancée, appeared grave. Ron, embracing a grief-stricken Bill. Arthur and Molly – both red-eyed. The sombre Minister. Severus and Remus, each holding a single white rose, hands locked. And the frail figure of Gabrielle, in a floor-long black dress trimmed with fine lace, her silver hair cascading down her back. The girl's beautiful face was drawn, dark circles under bloodshot eyes. She seemed to be beyond grief. Beyond tears.

'I feel guilty,' Harry spoke. Draco, who stood beside him, grasped his hand comfortingly.

'It's not your fault. There are always casualties in war.'

'I know. But I still feel as thought I am to blame. If it had not been for me, they would not have come. If it had not been for me...' His voice trailed off.

People began to move, each walking up to the two fresh graves to place flowers there. Harry waited until the small group began to disperse, somehow unable to move at all, as if moving would have made it all... final. Irreversible.

'How are you feeling?' Hermione asked, shuffling up to the two men. Harry smiled at her sadly, noticing that her bulging stomach looked bigger every day, huge under her thin black dress.

'Okay, I guess,' he replied blankly, mind numb.

'Feels strange to suddenly know he's gone for good, doesn't it?' Hermione asked, tossing a dark curl off her face.

'Yes, it does,' Harry admitted. He had not thought about that. Most of his life, he was driven by the single goal of destroying Voldemort. And now that he has... Well, it was hard to digest. As if something was suddenly gone – a part so huge of him that there was now a vast black void.

'You want me and Viktor to give you a lift to the restaurant?'

'No, it's alright,' Draco said quietly, 'I think we'll go home. He needs to get into bed and have something hot to drink.'

'Okay,' Hermione looked back and saw Viktor waiting for her, 'um, I'll go then. Call me, okay?'

Draco lead Harry away, towards the small, silver Renault parked not far off. Harry followed obediently, in a somewhat trance-like state.

At home, Draco helped him get undressed and ushered him into the bedroom, where he forced the brunet to climb under the blankets. Finding that he was too mentally tired to do anything else, Harry obeyed, falling into a fitful sleep not long afterwards.

Draco lay down next to him, on top of the covers, and pulled Harry closer.

'What's going to happen now?' He asked, no-one in particular, bending to kiss Harry's tousled hair.

And he knew, deep inside, he knew that everything as going to be alright. They'd been through too much, seen too much together – loved each other too much. Watching the sun rise, gracefully and magnificently, colouring the sky in every shade of greens and blues and pinks, Draco pulled his sleeping lover closer. Despite his tiredness, he felt as hope blaze within him. A tiny smile curved his lips. Yes, everything was going to be alright...

A/N – Just to clarify something about the Horcruxes. The Amulet was supposed to be one, but Voldemort decided against it and placed the last one within Remus instead. I had no idea how to work that into the story.

Anyways, this is it guys. Hope you had fun – I sure did!


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